Wingmarks
by jeresy
Summary: When Castiel truly falls, he knows he won't be alone. (deathfic)


Castiel sucked in a rattling breath. He could feel his grace waning, slowly. Too slow. The human bodily functions seeped into his system, the one true sign of his life force slowly slip through the pores of his vessel's skin, the sweat beading on his forehead and blood sliding down his airways. The less he felt his grace inside him, the more he felt human, the more he felt the pain. And it all was so real. This was not the phantom sting of a blade in his chest, like the first time he ever showed himself to another human than Jimmy, and was stabbed by a knife meant for demons. His powers were no longer there to shield him from the pure agony. The tear of skin, the piercing of his lungs, blood leaking from a nicked artery. He had never felt a pain that was real. Not like this.

His blade dropped from his grip and clattered to the stone floor before his knees buckled. He gripped his chest tight, trying to take a breath, desperately heaving for a just a tiny gulp of air. The wet sound of blood pouring onto his lungs filled the room, almost drowning out the sound of Dean's desperate scream. Something in his heart clenched at the sound, though he couldn't tell what or why.

Suddenly he felt arms embrace him, leaning his shivering body back against a warm chest. He looked up with bleary eyes and met Dean's. A panicked hand reached over his shoulder and grabbed at the weeping wound in Castiel's chest, pressing firmly but gently at the hole. The other hand gripped him tight under his right armpit, holding him steady against the human's chest.

''No, Cas. Don't do this… not now'', Dean cried, barely audible in over the deathly rattles in the angel's lungs. Castiel coughed weakly, the blood in his airways leaving his throat for a few blessed seconds until it was replaced with more blood.

''D-Dean,'' Castiel managed to utter before he coughed again, this time harder, more persistent. Red drops spotted his already stained coat and shirt. The pattern reminded him of an impressionist painting, rough brushstrokes and fat drops smeared over the canvas. ''I- It's okay Dean''

''No it's not Cas! Don't you dare leave me now. We've been through so much crap. You… you can heal right? You can heal... Come on heal yourself for me,'' Dean was weeping now, burying his wet face in Castiel's hair. Castiel took comfort in the warm skin touching his. The hand over his still pouring wound clutched harder, causing him to gasp as the pain spiked again, but he said nothing. He didn't want to distress Dean further than he already had. He could feel himself loosing control over his limbs, his lungs slowly filling up. He was choking on his own blood. He reached upwards with a trembling hand, cupping it around Dean's wet cheek.

''Everything… is going to be… alright'', he said, and coughed up more blood. It tasted wrong in his mouth, like someone had poured hot liquid copper into his lungs.

''Don't say that,'' Dean gritted out, refusing to accept what was bound to happen. A fire suddenly burst inside of him. Light started pouring out of the wound, filtering into tiny slits in between Dean's fingers. His vision turned white, his lungs refused to draw more air.

''L-Let me go, Dean,'' he gritted out. A tiny surge of adrenaline filled him, and he tried to launch himself out of the man's grip, but to no avail. Dean gripped him tight. Castiel fell limp against his chest, trying to draw a breath. ''I will hurt you if…'' He ran out of air, his mouth was gaping, trying to suck in more oxygen. Blood was filling his mouth, and he coughed. His eyes remained shut, but his vision stayed engulfed in white. The strong arms around him held him tighter,

''No,'' Dean shouted, then he lowered his voice, trembling. ''I won't leave you. Stop trying… just stop trying to push me away, Cas, 'cause I won't let you leave me. Not again.''

Cas couldn't speak anymore. Couldn't see anymore. His bloody had long stopped following his commands. He could just listen. To Dean's shuddering breaths, the blood pumping in his ears, the wet sound of his lungs full of blood. He knew a human would be long dead by now. As his grace had faltered and came to a coughing stop inside of him, he knew that he was closer than he had ever been to human. It was only the weak remnants of functioning grace that still held him together. And now not even that was enough.

He buried his face into Dean's jacket as if saying his last good bye. The white in his vision was absolute, filling him and burning him, scorching.

And then he let go.


End file.
